How My Mother In Law And Rougned Odor Kept Me Out Of Retirement

They say timing is everything. I’m not sure who “they” are, but they’re right. I was supposed to be knee-deep into retirement right now, instead, I’m gearing up for yet another run on the roller coaster ride known as a Major League Baseball season. I planned on retiring after last season. It seemed like the right time, the right decision for my family.

The 2015 season was a tough one. My kids were in the midst of what I fondly refer to as the “asshole stage”—I mean that in the most loving way possible—which made everything just a little more difficult than it already was…and by a little, I mean a lot ;). So after 2015, I decided 2016 would be my last season. I wanted to give myself, my family and our support system a finish line. I felt like we all needed it.

Among my numerous character flaws is my reluctance to ask for help. But when you have two kids, a husband who works and a job that revolves around nights and weekends, you really have no choice but to ask for help—and a lot of it. I’ve gotten better about it over time, but the struggle is real. So when my kids were in the midst of the anatomy stage I mentioned previously, the mommy guilt reached an all-time high.

For those unfamiliar with mommy guilt, I’m certain it’s not exclusive to moms who work outside the home, but I do know it’s more prevalent and talked about ad nauseam among working moms. It’s the constant worry that you’re missing something in your children’s lives that they’re sure to never forgive you for—the class party, the baseball game, the bedtime story—and the ensuing feeling of guilt that makes you want to vomit. Yup, that pretty much sums it up.

I figured if I hung up the microphone, I wouldn’t have to ask for near as much help and my mommy guilt would disappear. I was so sure about my decision I informed the Rangers when I signed my contract that 2016 would be it and even recommended a replacement. I told those close to me, and even convinced myself I was ready. After all, I was pushing 40 (emphasis on pushing), and half these dudes are young enough to be my nephews 😉

Then in March of last year, my daddy died. Rocked my world. To say the two of us were close would be like saying Adrian Beltre has a marginally good time playing baseball. The two weeks between his death and the start of baseball season were the most difficult of my life. By the time Opening Day rolled around, I couldn’t wait to get to the ballpark. I welcomed the structure and the atmosphere in that clubhouse. I needed that. I needed the distraction. I needed normal, and the controlled chaos of a Major League Baseball season is my normal.

The season played on, and I held firm to my retirement plans…until the last week of August. That’s when I got a call from my mother in law. She said she wanted to talk to me, soon and in person. She came over the next evening and made quite the sales pitch.

Her message went something like this: I don’t buy for one second that you’re ready to walk away from this job. You’re doing this because you think it’s what’s best for everyone around you, but what you don’t realize is that we want to help. We don’t view it as a chore. Your work situation gives us an added dimension to our relationships with the kids that we wouldn’t have otherwise.

The “we” my mother in law was referring to is the army of people who help care for our kiddos. For some, it takes a village. For us, it takes an army. The words she said that night affected me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, and for the first time in months, doubt crept into my mind that I might not be making the right decision. Two days later, Rougie walked it off against the Mariners, and that creeping doubt was flat out stalking me.

If you don’t remember the game, Rougie put his team in a bind by running into an out on the bases late in the game (his second of the night), drawing the ire of one Adrian Beltre in the dugout. I remember watching him make that walk to the dugout, tail tucked between his legs, obviously knowing his mistake long before AB gave him a love tap on the cheek and reminded him of the fine line between aggressive and reckless base running. Growing pains can be a bitch.

The Rangers trailed 7-6 headed in to the bottom of the 9th. Beltre led off with a single, setting up the perfect atonement opportunity for Odor. And he delivered with a shot to straightaway center field to give the Rangers a 8-7 walkoff win over the Mariners. He was mobbed at home plate by his teammates in what had to have been a celebration equal parts joy and relief.

Still out of breath, Rougie gave—in my opinion—his best interview ever. He was relaxed. He was confident. He was honest about his mistake and effusive in his praise for Adrian Beltre and the lessons he has taught him. It was the Rougned Odor I see on a daily basis….and it was a far cry from the timid young man who arrived in Arlington a couple of years ago, so sure of his baseball talents but so unsure of how to communicate with the media and fans, in general.

As we walked up the tunnel that night (cue the sappy music here), I hugged him so big and told him how perfect that interview was and how proud I was of him.

His response? “Really, Emmy?”

Mine? “Really, Rougie.” And then I might have gotten something in my eye. Don’t judge.

Anyway, the point is this. That moment—sandwiched in between that back porch conversation with my mother in law and a Thai lunch with Jon Daniels—made me realize how much I love my job and that I wasn’t ready to hang it up just yet. The right time will come, I’m just not quite sure yet when that will be. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the ride and let my gratitude grow for those who love my family and keep my mommy guilt at a manageable level.

Let the shit show begin again!

Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

Random Thought: Why do people insist on telling you about their March Madness brackets? Is this what people without kids feel like when I talk to them about mine???


10-Minute Turkey Tacos

1 lb. ground turkey
1 packet taco seasoning
1 jar taco sauce
Uncle Ben’s 90-second Mexican rice
Shredded cheese
Grape tomatores

Brown turkey. Add seasoning and sauce to taste.
Warm tortillas in foil in the oven.
Top with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and avocado.
Heat rice up in the microwave.


Where’s My Party At???

If you want to hear the political musings of a middle-aged, people-loving, news-avoiding mother of two, you have come to the right place. If that sentence in itself makes your skin crawl (which it very well may), do yourself a favor and stop reading now.


1. I don’t watch the news. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. It’s depressing. I’d rather watch trash TV (looking at you, Real Housewives) to take my mind off of all the real shit going on in the world. Selfish? Sure. Irresponsible? Probably. But that’s the truth.

2. I’ve voted Democrat and Republican in my life, which makes me able to piss off twice as many people as I would’ve otherwise.

3. I am not educated enough to speak on policies, foreign or domestic. Maybe this shit show will cause me to change that…but probably not. Let’s be real. I barely have time to read an US Weekly these days, and honestly the thought of it sounds exhausting. Again, just being real here.

So most of my “news” comes from social media…and what a disaster that is. So much misinformation and snark and hatefulness. It’s gross. I admire the hell out of the people who educate themselves so that they can have an informed opinion on what is going on, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s a small percentage relative to those who position themselves as knowing the totality of what they post and comment on.

To those who have educated themselves—and used those facts to form opinions absent of a political affiliation—props to you. Mad props to you. You have taken the time to do the research, open your mind, formulate a thought, and share it with others. I wish there were more like you, so you could help educate me. But right now, I can’t see the educated forest for the uneducated trees. And if you think I’m talking about your side, you’re wrong—and right—because I’m talking about both.

Instead of searching for articles and opinions that align with yours, how about seeking out information that challenges you to consider another point of view? And for goodness sake, at the very least take the time to read the information you’re sharing and make sure it’s coming from a legitimate source.

To those who feel moved to stand up and be heard and seen—good on you. I hope you feel empowered and that those around you feel the same. We all have causes, and whatever yours is, get behind it. Whole heartedly. But remember that someone else my have a cause different than yours, and they feel equally as strong.

I’ve come to realize in the last few weeks/months/years (hell, all my life), that I really don’t know much, but here’s what I do know. I can control what goes on in my house. I can teach my kids to be kind and tolerant and forgiving and open-minded. I can teach them that the things that make us different are what makes this crazy sphere go round and round, that this life would be so freaking boring if we all thought and believed and acted alike. I can teach them to hold strong in their beliefs, and at the same time, let others hold strong in theirs. We all come from different places—literally and figuratively—so we are bound to have different experiences that mold us into the people we are and the beliefs that we have. Embrace that, but always be respectful of others doing the same damn thing.

I can do good things in my little part of this world. I can give of my time, my money and my deeds to better my community. I can treat people with acceptance and kindness. I can try to help those who need it. Damn, that sounds hokey, but oh well, that’s about all I’ve got in me. I’m going to do my best to make my little bubble a little better and hope you ass-kicking, world-changers take care of the rest, knowing all the while those changes might not be in line with everything I believe.

In the meantime, I’ll keep being a fence-riding, smut TV-watching mom trying to raise her kids not to be assholes while trying to do a little bit of good in my community.

Heaven help these two–and their mom 😉

Random Thought: Why are they still playing the Pro Bowl?

Recipe: Order craft pizza–people will think you’re fancy. I told you I’m terrible at cooking. It’s important to have a good go-to craft pizza delivery. You’re welcome.

3 Things I’ve Learned From My 3-Year-Old Daughter

If you follow me on social media, you may have seen a number of posts with the hashtag #hotmessHattie. They have taken on a bit of a life of their own, mostly because this three-year-old ray of sunshine embodies everything that hashtag implies. I thank God everyday that she’s mine—as challenging as she might be—because her gifts are unending, her smile is infectious, and the lessons she has taught me are unlike anything I’ve ever learned.

1. Stop worrying so much…about the little things. The way your hair looks. The clothes you wear—even if they’re on backwards. More days than not, she comes downstairs in the morning fully clothed (not matching and usually backwards or inside out), hair a mess.

Me: Hattie, your shirt is on backwards.
Hattie: I know.
Me: You want me to fix it for you?
Hattie: Nope. I’m good.

Nope. I’m good. What a beautiful concept. My three-year-old telling me, “Let me do me, Mommy.”

And I do. Not sure that’s the right parenting move, but I do. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? Not to me and surely not to her. You do you, Hattie. And I’ll watch you with love and admiration at every turn.

PS–she also brushes her teeth most mornings, which garners a tremendous amount of leeway 😉

2. Love…a lot and without condition. This child loves, and she loves hard. She is convicted in her compassion, and that compassion knows no bounds or qualifiers. She is untouched by cynicism or the influence of others. I pray it stays that way always, that she remains unaffected by any outside factors that would teach her otherwise. That may be my biggest challenge as her mother–to give her the room to let her develop into the person SHE wants to be, because that is something we should all be afforded.

3. Go crazy (maybe not at bedtime ;)…but go crazy! Dance and sing and laugh and lose your shit, because why not??? What good does bottling up all that fun and excitement and entertainment do anyone? So cliche, but life is too short to walk around with a stick up your ass trying to do what everyone else thinks is right or proper. Let your hair down (even though you barely have enough for a ponytail), rock that sheepskin vest with no shirt underneath, sing to the top of your lungs to the Chainsmokers “Don’t Let Me Down”. I will always be your adoring audience.

Thank you, Hattie McCoy, for challenging me as a person and a parent, for showing me the lessons that can be learned through the unfiltered mind and heart of a child. I love you.

#hotmessHattie at her finest!

Random Thought: If you are unwilling to see the shortcomings of “your side” (whatever side that may be), you are denying yourself the opportunity to solidify and strengthen your stance. Open your eyes to see and your ears to hear the thoughts and feelings of those who differ from you. You might be surprised.

Recipe: Pick up to-go from your favorite Mexican food restaurant (they always pack it in those neat little disposable aluminum containers), stick it in the oven, and serve at dinner time! (Don’t judge–I’ve been very up front about my culinary inadequacies 😉


To The Fashion Critic At The Grocery Store Today…

Let me start this by saying I wasn’t in the best frame of mind this morning. I left town Thursday and got home just as Sunday was becoming Monday. I didn’t get much sleep because my OCD was thinking about all the things I needed to do today before my kids woke up. Highly productive, I know. I spent my first couple of waking hours juggling phone calls between American Airlines, DirecTV and Thermador. Don’t ask. Not looking for sympathy–ok, maybe just a little–but also trying to set the scene 😉

In the midst of resetting breakers and rescheduling flights, I realize the available sustenance for my kids’ lunch consisted of granola bars, apple sauce and GoGurt. So I did what any legitimate candidate for Mother of the Year would do…I took the kids to the grocery store and went straight to the Lunchable aisle. Don’t judge.

As we were making our way to the checkout, we ran into a woman–we’ll call her Fashion Critic–who felt inclined to share her thoughts. Here’s how it went:

Fashion Critic: Well aren’t those some interesting outfits.

Me: Yup. They’ve got minds of their own.

Fashion Critic: How old are they?

Me: 5 (Henry) and 3 (Hattie).

Fashion Critic: That’s awfully early to lose control. <Insert smug smile>

At that very moment, I wanted to burst into tears–because that’s what I do when I’m really pissed. I cry. Weird, I know. And then I wanted to tell her to suck it. Mature, I know. I didn’t do either. Shocking, I know. I gritted my teeth and told her to have a nice day in the bitchiest tone I could muster.

What I wish I would’ve said was this:

“Listen, lady. Mind your own business. I honestly don’t care what my kids wear at home, to school, to the grocery store, pretty much anywhere. They like to dress themselves. They rarely match. Sometimes their clothes are a little baggy. I. Don’t. Care. You know what I do care about? The fact that my three-year-old daughter ran downstairs this morning to tell me she had already brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Then beaming with pride, she told me she had already picked out her clothes for school and dressed herself. I told her she looked beautiful and how proud I was of her for doing all of that by herself. Sounds like a total loss of control, huh?”

Listen, my kids aren’t anywhere close to perfect or even easy. They challenge me everyday in more ways than I knew were possible. But I’m thankful for that–or at least I’m trying to be. I know their stubbornness and independence are parts of their personalities, and I’m trying to let them develop without smothering them with my OCD (easier said than done). It’s actually therapeutic for me as a control freak to let my little people express their fashion freedom in whatever way they see fit. I fight a lot of battles as a mom, and this is one I will gladly concede.

If you dress your kids to the nines everyday, awesome. To each his own. Different strokes for different folks. All those cliches. Every family is different, and whatever works for yours is all that matters. This parenting thing is hard enough without everybody and their mother giving you their thoughts on how you’re raising your kids.

Ok, rant over. Just one more thing to that fashion critic at the grocery store this morning…

Suck it, lady. I’m doing the best I can. Have a nice day!

My little fashionistas

My little fashionistas

Random Thought:

Keep your eyes on your own paper. It doesn’t just apply to test taking.


Go grab a rotisserie chicken and pre-made side dish out of that heated kiosk in the grocery store and grab some fresh broccoli. Heat and eat. Don’t judge. It’s what’s for dinner at my house tonight.

Gourmet meal at the McCoy house

Gourmet meal at the McCoy house.

Here’s The Deal…

I got doused with Powerade after the Rangers’ win over the Red Sox on Sunday. If you don’t follow the Rangers, you’re probably not aware that this is the Rangers’ bit. After every home win—for at least the last calendar year—they drench the guy doing the post game interview (or interviews) with a bucket full of Powerade. It’s what they do.

I’m not exactly sure why they do it. Check that, I do know. Because they think it’s fun. And it’s a long season. And they’re happy they won a game. And beyond that? Who cares? You might. I don’t. And neither do the 25 guys who actually play the games—and who actually get drenched.

You think it’s tired? Cool.

You think it’s over played? Awesome.

But it doesn’t matter. They dig it, and they’re going to keep doing it as long as they’re winning. These “overplayed” celebrations have no impact on anything—except the post-game interviews—and let’s be real, these aren’t exactly State of the Union addresses. Don’t get me wrong. I do my best to bring something to the post-game table, but in reality, people don’t want to hear from me, they want to hear from the players. And this is the Rangers’ post-game victory language.

I get those who look at it as a “respect issue”, and I appreciate those who are mindful of that and concerned about that, especially with the male-female dynamic. I’m sure that’s a factor in some of these post-game celebration cases, but it never is and never has been with me and the Rangers.

I take my job seriously, but I don’t take myself seriously. I’ve been around this team for a long time, and I have never felt disrespected by any of their post-game shenanigans. I have spent more hours than I can count in that clubhouse, talking to those guys—about baseball, about their families, about stupid stuff. I consider them friends (gasp!), and friends play tricks on each other. I like bits. Bits are fun.

The day before Rougned Odor got me, I poured a cup of ice cold water down his back during an interview in the dugout during batting practice. It was funny. Maybe not to you, but it was to those of us that were in the dugout—Rougie included.

Sunday, I brought a knife to a gun fight, pulling out my silly string to take on giant coolers full of Powerade and water. It didn’t work out quite the way I had envisioned, and I got soaked. Oh well. Who cares? I don’t. And if I don’t, you probably shouldn’t either.

Photo courtesy of Alan Rose

Photo courtesy of Alan Rose

Random Thought:

If you’re going to do the wave, please don’t do it in a close game.


Miss Vicky’s Easy Chicken & Veggies


  • 4 chicken breasts
  • 1 1/2 cups broccoli florets
  • 3 dozen baby carrots
  • 1/2 stick of butter
  • 4 tablespoons of olive oil
  • 1 package of zesty Italian dressing mix


Place all the ingredients in a large casserole dish and cover with foil. Cook at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Seriously. That’s it. Enjoy!


If you haven’t heard of Rougned Odor by now, just google his name. You’ll find hundreds of articles–most of which have been written in the last 24 hours and focus on that wicked blow he laid on Jose Bautista in the Blue Jays-Rangers game on May 15.

Since then, conclusions have been drawn as to what kind of player and person that incident makes him. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and feelings about the situation and the person.

I’m not trying to dispute any of that.

I’m not trying to defend any situation.

I’m not trying to defend any one person.

I do, however, want to tell you about the Rougie I know and have known since he broke into the Major Leagues with the Rangers two years ago. So if you’re not interested in that, cool. Stop reading 🙂

Full disclosure. I have covered the Rangers for more than a decade. I am currently their dugout reporter. I am a currently contract employee of the Rangers organization. I am a giant homer, and I make no apologies for that. I am in that clubhouse 100+ days over the course of a 162-game season, and those dudes in that room make it hard NOT to root for them. So there it is. All out in the open.

Now to Rougie. When I first met him, he was guarded—sure of himself but a bit uncertain as to how to handle the media aspect of being a Big Leaguer. I remember one of my first conversations with him. He told me how important it was to him to be able to speak English in his interviews, but he wasn’t comfortable. He was afraid he would say the wrong thing, that he would be misunderstood. He was driven by the example that Elvis Andrus set in establishing himself as player that could be counted on between the lines, as well as in post-game press conferences.

He worked tirelessly with Spanish broadcaster Eleno Orneles to improve his English. I can’t even count the number of conversations we’ve had over the last two years about how important it is to him that he be able to speak without a translator. And now he does. He speaks freely, much like the way he plays. He worked his ass off to get to that point, just like he worked his ass off to get back to the Big Leagues after being sent down to the minors last year. So if you’re going to judge him by a Jose Bautista right hook and a minor league melee, factor those things into your equation as well. And throw in his willingness to do just about anything to put a smile on anyone’s face, particularly if they’re shorter than him, aka kids ;).

Rougned Odor is not a thug. He is not an a-hole. He plays hard. All the time. And with a lot of emotion. Sometimes those emotions run a little high, playing a fiercely competitive game with extremely high stakes. But who am I to judge? I lose my shit on a regular basis sitting in a camera well. And you know what may be the greatest thing about Rougie? He’s not concerned about his reputation outside his clubhouse–to him, that’s the only one that matters.

I know what you’re thinking—I’d have a different take on Rougie if he wasn’t on my team. Maybe you’re right. But he is on my team, and I can say with certainty that the guys who wear the same jersey as Rougned Odor feel the same way.

Just my two cents, which is about all it’s worth. #uptop


Rougned Odor and Elvis Andrus with my son, Henry.

About Emily


Emily Jones McCoy is the dugout reporter for the Texas Rangers, owner and co-founder of Posh Play, author of A Place For Everyone, consultant for Rodan+Fields and Scout & Cellar, and president of the Do It For Durrett Foundation. She has a husband (Mike), two children (Henry & Hattie), and a very small filter. You’ve been warned.

Little Parenting Miracles, My Secret Talent, Cheesy Potatoes & Awesomesauce

There are so many things I want for my kids. I want them to be healthy and smart and happy and successful and work hard and make good decisions–not necessarily in that order–but I want all those things. I’m pretty sure all parents do. But lately my parenting conversations with family and friends have revolved around the different environment we are raising our children in compared to the climate in which we grew up. I know, I sound like one of those “good ol’ days farts” who talks about, well, the good old days. Oh well.

This is what it has come down to for me–I want my children to be good human beings. Kind, but willing to stand up for themselves and others. Tolerant, but steadfast in their beliefs. Inclusive, but not willing to conform. Now don’t ask me how I’m going to pull this off, because let’s be real, I’m figuring this whole parenting thing out on a day-by-day basis.

And let’s be even more real–I’ve got a long way to go. My kids are jackasses right now. Yes, jackasses. They are almost 3 and 5 years old and at the height of their toddler jackassery. It doesn’t mean I love them any less, they’re just “challenging” as my politically correct friends would say. And if you have kids in this age range that don’t act like jackasses here and there, holler at your girl so I can come to your house and learn from someone who is actually pulling it off.

In the meantime–until the toddler jackassery stage is over–we’re doing our best to take advantage of some teaching moments along the way. A couple of weeks ago, I missed one of Henry’s baseball games, and my husband gave me a full report on his performance (he had one hit off live pitching and a play in the field, in case you were wondering 😉 and something that happened while he was on base. There was a special needs child on the other team, and he kept trying to tag Henry out when he was on base. Henry got frustrated, and did’t exactly know how to handle the situation. Fortunately my husband was nearby and explained the situation to him, but it was still hard for him to grasp. He’s four. He was confused.

A few days later, I ran into my friend Amber McDonald and her mom at the ballpark. The McDonald family is a staple at Texas Rangers games, and Amber is one of the biggest and best fans I have come across in my 15 years of covering sports. That day, Amber invited me to come watch her play in one of her Miracle League games. Perfect timing. What an opportunity to show Henry what baseball is all about. So last Saturday, we went to watch Amber play. She was great. So were her teammates. So were her opponents. We cheered for all of them, and they deserved it.

WARNING!!! Cheesy mom moment coming. It may have been my proudest parenting moment to date, hearing Henry and Hattie yell, “Let’s go Amber! Way to go Amber!” They don’t know Amber, they just know she’s mommy’s friend, but they were so happy to root for Amber and her friends (until they were distracted by the possibility of popcorn and sodas ;). If you haven’t ever been to a Miracle League game, go. Whether or not you like baseball. Whether or not you have kids. Watching those kids play a game–with such joy and such appreciation for that moment in time–was .

So thank you, Amber, for inviting me to your game. Thank you for showing my kids that people’s differences can bring them together. Thank you for reminding me what pure joy looks like. You are a truly a treasure, and I am lucky to call you my friend.

Amber McDonald, member of the Miracle League White Rangers

Amber McDonald, member of the Miracle League Rangers.

Now for the Random Thought, Recipe and a new feature starting this week–a product I love aka Emily’s Awesomesauce 🙂

Random Thought

Sometimes I make my bed with such effort that I sweat. Seriously. I would put my bed-making skills up against anyone on this planet. Sheets must be crispy to ensure the best sleep possible. You may call it crazy…I call it dedication.


Cafe J’s (Lubbock, Texas) Cheesy Potatoes


  • 1 bag shredded hash browns (thawed)
  • 1 can cream of chicken soup
  • 2 cups of sour cream
  • 2 cups of shredded cheddar cheese
  • 1/2 tablespoon salt
  • 1/4 tablespoon white pepper
  • Dash of cayenne pepper


Mix all ingredients together in a medium casserole dish. Cook at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes or until the edges are brown.

Emily’s Awesomesauce

So I’m going to give this a run. I sell a lot of products, but this won’t always be something I sell. And I vow to always disclose if I have paid for said product or gifted said product, in the spirit of full disclosure.

Gimme Brow by Benefit. $18 at Ulta.

Gimme Brow by Benefit. $18 at Ulta.

My inaugural awesome sauce is Gimme Brow by Benefit. The story behind it is great. I was at Ulta last week and asked one of the girls that worked there if she could point me in the right direction of an eyebrow booster (don’t ask–I had a bad waxing experience a few months ago, and it’s been a tough recovery). Anyway, another customer piped up and told me about this product and said it would change my life. It’s called Gimme Brow by Benefit, and that’s exactly what it does–gimme brows! The trick is to go against the grain on your eyebrows (it has a small, mascara-type brush) with the first coat, then straighten them out with the second coat. It’s awesome. Totally life-changing in an eyebrow kind of way 😉




Emily Jones McCoy is the dugout reporter for the Texas Rangers, owner and co-founder of Posh Play and iSantaCam, consultant for Rodan+Fields, and president of the Do It For Durrett Foundation. She has a husband (Mike), two children (Henry & Hattie), and a very small filter. You’ve been warned.

The Joys of OCD, Fake Lashes & Roasted Brussels Sprouts

I have a confession to make. I watch The Real Housewives of Just About Everywhere (except Potomac, because honestly, I have no idea where that is…and Dallas, because I can’t start any new series during baseball season). I realized I needed to come clean with this information after a conversation with Baltimore Orioles’ manager Buck Showalter last week. Yes, you read that right. The topic came up (yes, you read that right), and I denied ever watching the show.

Now instead of searching for the answer as to why I lied to Buck about watching the Real Housewives (which is a whole other blog post), I instead went digging deep within myself as to why I actually choose to spend my spare time watching such a useless show. It didn’t take me long to figure it out.

First off, it’s useless. It’s pointless. There is no thinking involved. The storylines are so ridiculous they are comical. After a long day of work, running around and being “mommied” to death by my kids, I welcome such useless, pointless, thoughtless things. I wish I could say I spent that time studying up on the policies and platforms of our presidential candidates. It is, after all, an election year. But let’s be real.

Perhaps more importantly, the Real Housewives make me feel like the most normal human being to ever walk this planet (or at least one of them). I’ve never flipped any tables or pulled out anyone’s weave, although it has crossed my mind a time or two ;). Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had more than my fair share of regretful, humiliating moments, I’ve just never invited television cameras to come along and document them (unless you count those slip ups during commercial breaks…see my first blog post for clarification).

My point is this—right or wrong (and I’m pretty sure it’s wrong)—I use these train wrecks to make myself feel a little less train wreck-y. Which brings me to the point of this blog. If you think you are a Type A, OCD-having, neurotic mess, let me return the favor, complete with pictures.

I am so Type A that I go room to room after the housekeeper leaves to put all of the shutters at the exact same angle and return all tabletop decor to it’s proper location.

I am so OCD that I have 8 email accounts, and I don’t go to sleep before that little red circle above the email icon is gone. In fact, I kind of hyperventilate when someone’s red circle has a number with a comma in it. I mean, what if there is something really important in one of those unread emails??? Who hasn’t read THOUSANDS of emails??? It stresses me out!!!

I am so neurotic that all of my husband’s shirts have to be facing the same direction (we share a closet)…and all must be on the thin, white, wire hangers. Except for the flannel shirts. Those are heavy and require a brown cardboard hanger. When the dry cleaning comes in, all the button downs are facing the wrong direction, so I fix them. Turn the hanger around and hang in accordance to color. And all is right with the world (or at least in my closet).


My poor husband. In my defense, he knew exactly what he was getting into. You can’t hide this level of crazy.

But I can use my Type A-ness for good, too. And this is where I might be able to help the “normal” person. At the beginning of each month, I download all the pictures from my camera and my iPhone to my computer, then upload them to a Shutterfly gallery and send them out to immediate family members. It’s a good way to make sure none of those precious photos disappear and keep loved ones in the loop!

Now cue the OCD. I order every picture that I upload and put them in chronological order in a photo album labeled by year. I want my kids to be able to look through photo albums the way I did as a kid…and I’m nuts 😉

Every picture that we have in our possession is in one of these albums. Someday we'll get bored and look at all of them. Seriously.

Every picture that we have in our possession is in one of these albums. Someday we’ll get bored and look at all of them. Seriously.

Anyway, there is some normal in my crazy, so hopefully you can take something from this post. If not, there’s always the random thought and the recipe!

Random Thought

If you’re a woman and you want to change your life in a very superficial way, get eyelash extensions. I got my first set almost five years ago, and I’ve never looked back. They’re not cheap, and it’s a total luxury, but I would give up a lot of other things before I’d give up my lashes. I don’t look like I just woke up when I don’t have makeup on, and I don’t have to spend 10 minutes applying mascara when I do wear makeup. They make me feel girlie, and I’m not very girlie. Don’t judge.


Courtesy of my sister, Sarah. I don’t have a picture of the finished product, but I do have a picture of the text message exchange between the two of us about the recipe. Listen people, I never claimed to be Martha Stewart. #blessmyheart

You say teaspoon, I say tablespoon...

You say teaspoon, I say tablespoon…

Roasted Brussels Sprouts

-2-3 dozen Brussels sprouts
-Olive oil
-Balsamic vinegar

Cut Brussels sprouts in half (stems off). Drizzle with olive oil, salt, pepper. Roast at 425 degrees for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Mix 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar, 1 teaspoon honey. Drizzle over roasted Brussels sprouts and serve!

Say Nice Things To People

Say nice things to people. That’s it. Just say nice things to people. If you think something positive about someone, say it out loud–to them. They can’t read your mind, so just tell them! Why wouldn’t you want to be the person who makes someone’s day? That’s a pretty great feeling–maybe even better than being on the receiving end of a good compliment. So just say it–even if you’re a bit envious of it–that’s ok. It’s human nature. If someone is good at something–even better than you at something–tell them, congratulate them. It will make you feel good. I promise. (Unless you’re really messed up, and then I can’t help you ;).

But seriously, I feel like so many times I’ve thought nice things about people to myself and haven’t put them into words, largely because I’m envious. It sounds trivial and childish–and it is–but it’s true. And I’m working on it.

Here’s a very superficial example. Anyone who knows me knows I have the worst hair in America–it’s ok, I’ve come to grips with it. Well, the first time I met Kelly Gavin (Rangers photographer extraordinaire) and her flowing locks in the Texas summer heat, I was flat out jealous. Here she was looking gorgeous in mid-July sporting her giant camera and flowing golden locks, and my tired-ass, fine, thin hair was stuck to my head. In the beginning I just wished for that head of hair, so maybe I wouldn’t get so many tweets or Facebook messages about how bad mine is (yes, that really happens), and then one day I decided to tell her how great I thought her hair was. She was genuinely flattered. And that made me happy. And I think I’ve told her that everyday I’ve seen her since then. And you know what? It makes me happy.

I will never have Kelly Gavin’s hair, and that’s ok. This isn’t really about hair. It’s just a story to communicate a point. There are always things you are going to want for in life that others have. The most important thing is to appreciate the value that others bring to the table–and more importantly–what you bring to the table.

So compliment others. And compliment yourself. We all deserve to hear nice things.


Here’s a pic of the hair situation I’m talking about. I’m stuck in the middle of these two. This pic is of my dad and my daughter sitting together. I’m the tie that binds them. And I love it, bad hair and all.

during Game 3 of the ALDS between the Texas Rangers and the Toronto Blue Jays at Globe Life Park in Arlington, Texas on Sunday, October 11, 2015. (Louis DeLuca/The Dallas Morning News)

And here’s Goldie Locks herself, Kelly Gavin 🙂

And because I have OCD and feel the need to keep with my formula of how to make a killer blog (main subject + random thought + recipe), see below for the latter two.

Random thought. You’re in an airplane. 20,000 feet up. Traveling 400 mph. You jump and hang in the air for three seconds. Why don’t end up at the back of the plane???

Recipe. While you’re thinking about that, try out this gourmet recipe for turkey tacos (look out Martha Stewart 😉


1 lb. ground turkey
1 jar of taco sauce
1 packet of taco seasoning
1 can of Rotel
1 can of black beans
1 package of quinoa in a bag (cooked)
Garlic salt
Corn & flour tortillas
Shredded cheese


Brown turkey. Mix in taco sauce, seasoning, Rotel, beans and cooked quinoa. Season with garlic salt and pepper. Top tacos with avocado and shredded cheese.

Grab a southwest salad in a bag, and you’re set.